Pain
by Doodle Dee Bop Bop
Summary: Rated T for cutting, themes, and language. I want to be skinny, to be forgotten about, to have all the teasing go away. There is one way for all that to happen for my past to disappear and for the pain to go away. All I need is a razor blade, that's all I need... I don't own House of Anubis


_Breathe in. _Breathe in until it hurts, until your lungs are burning and it feels like death.

_Then breathe out._ So out that there's nothing left, you have nothing in you.

The burning sensation, the feeling of being right next to deaths door, considering not taking another breath. Every single day, consider it.

Think about drowning yourself.

Cutting deep, losing all your blood.

I wonder how skinny that would make me?

To lose all my blood, maybe that's all I need, to cut of my calves, scrape off thighs, pull out my stomach, and rip out my chest. Tear off every last piece of my arms, and break my shoulders off. I would peel of my chin, and the front side of my neck.

And then maybe I could be perfect.

Imagine how small I would be.

I will never be good enough.

There's always more to lose, and then it becomes a game, a pleasure.

Pleasure though, is pain.

For pain came to me wearing a variety of masks, it came in friendships, and boyfriends, school, and laughter.

Eventually, though, it ripped off those masks and showed it's true self, exile for being a freak, and heartbreak. The coldness of being an outcast, and the cruelness of being laughed at.

I was on the wrong side of a cruel joke.

Maybe if I here skinnier, I would be the one laughing, not crying with her razor making tally marks for every reason why I'm a poor excuse for a human being.

Failure.

Screw up.

Second best twin.

Slut. Whore. Dyke.

Loser Patricia.

I've heard them all, yet each one is new cut in my heart, a cut that's begging to find it's way to the outside and feel the sting that is life, and taste the metallic of blood, the only taste you can count on.

For some things can taste sweet, but if you wait just long enough there true bitterness is shown.

* * *

I'll tell you a secret. Not that it's a secret anymore.

In ninth grade, I wouldn't let Jerome copy my homework.

So he told everyone in my grade I was a lesbian.

_I'm not._

The rumour didn't stop there. It got turned into I was a prostitute.

I was a fugitive, and that I killed all 12 of my ex boyfriends.

_I never had a boyfriend._

I got all A's, and it turned into.

'Patricia let the smartest guy in every class to touch her boobs if she could copy their work.'

The rumour got spread so quickly, I was a social outcast before I even heard it.

_I never did that_.

* * *

I got called to go to guidance one day, my grandfather had died, when I came out crying the hallway became alive with insults.

'You crybaby.'

'Attention seeking bitch.'

'She got caught selling drugs and is getting kicked out of school.'

'She does it all for attention.'

_I never wanted attention_.

The shadows are perfectly fine for me.

Attention, it's an insult at it's finest.

A sneer.

A way to mock someone.

Every awful insult you could think of, and more, tied into one god-awful-kill-me-now-let-me-die kind of word.

* * *

What's funny is I used to be on the inside, the popular, funny, bad ass in a good way that was cool girl.

I remember the day that all came down.

Eighth Grade. Cafeteria.

I had gotten my lunch of chocolate chip cookies and a roast beef sandwich, with a container of orange juice.

Kelly sneered at me. "You're, eating that?" She stared at me like I should have gotten a water and apple slices like the other girls.

"What's wrong with it?" I was innocent. I was stupid. Ignorance is the worst thing in life, because you can never truly know anything.

"God, you're fat enough as it is dumbass. Why do you think you don't have a boyfriend."

"I don't want a boyfriend." I didn't think I was fat, maybe a bit on the plump side, but I was also muscular.

Im that moment Kelly's face tensed up, then got this big awful disgusted look on her face like I just vomited in front of her.

"Oh. My. God. You're a lesbian. Oh my god, that's like the nastiest thing I've ever heard. You like can't sit with us." in that moment it felt like time stopped moving.

Then it seemed to move faster than normal, kids started throwing stuff. Milk cartons that were half full, french fries and apple slices, cheesy slabs of fake hamburger.

The words were worse. Much worse.

"Patricia's a lesbian."

"Go kill yourself."

"Crybaby."

"Go home to your mommy."

I ran out of the lunch room, expecting someone to stick up for me.

I should have told her I was an idiot. That I was a fatty. That was the day I stopped eating, I wanted to be skinny. And liked. Loved.

I new from that day forth that I wanted to die.

I just never knew when.

* * *

In eleventh grade, I somehow got considered cool again.

I knew why of course. I was skinny.

My wrists small and delicate.

I could count every one of my ribs.

I had a gap between my thighs, and skinny jeans looked perfect on me.

That was what made me popular.

Joy Mercer took it away from me the next year.

She found my pills, the ones I took to take away the pain, and she told Trudy all about it.

She was jealous.

Jealous I had a boyfriend, and was skinny, and that people liked me.

No one liked me after that. Not even me.

Die, die, die.

It'll be easy. Just drag the razor blade deeper than you ever have, that'll make you skinnier, all the blood gone, just your skin.

How wonderful I shall look, just some skin and bones.

No one would mind me being gone, I'm on an endless cycle of being cool, and going to the biggest screw up in history.

Along that cycle I never stopped hating myself though, never. The cuts never stopped, nor did the constant dieting, and swallowing pill after pill, to sleep, to get energy, to stop the pain.

Pain's an eternal nightmare though.

I grab my razor and slowly wish the world away.

my vision fades, my feelings are lost.

I wish I felt peace.

But I don't.

* * *

**Should I continue? Or leave it as a oneshot?**


End file.
